


Bandmates

by Zetto Rio (kalypsobean)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Musicians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 20:51:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20802794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsobean/pseuds/Zetto%20Rio
Summary: Written for a short story competition and didn't win; posting it for closure, unlikely to be expanded.





	Bandmates

It started with Neil, as it always did, a casual question or lyric suggestion, half a riff, choosing a fifth over an eighth. It would come from nowhere and then completely take over his thoughts until nothing else made sense.

"You're a pair of warring tops, you two," Neil said, everyone laughed, and things went on as if nothing had changed; yet, it sat in the forefront of Mitch's mind, repeating over and over until it wasn't Neil's voice, it was his own, and it settled into his being like something he'd always known, before words were something he'd used for himself.

He didn't look at Corey for the rest of rehearsal, but Mitch still knew where Corey was, how he stood, what he was doing, and he could trick himself into thinking he could feel warmth emanating from that direction, even though it was the middle of winter, making the rehearsal room was as freezing cold as if he were standing in a cloud of dry ice.

He didn't look at Corey when they got home, either, though he was acutely aware of the way their arms bumped as they settled in the back seat of their rideshare, laughed at how Corey's hair got caught on his guitar case, and still couldn't shake that inherent awareness of every single breath Corey took. It was different and the same and it made all the sense in the world, even as he made an excuse and shut himself in his room and silently screamed, "What the hell?" at his traitorous mind.

They'd argued over it, of course, in that joking way that people sometimes do - Mitch was the frontman, the voice, the image, the dominant one. Corey was the side man, the one in control of everything and who only took what space he needed, always genial and accepting and willing to go along with everyone. It worked because they had known each other for so long that even if they did argue, they both knew that it would work out, and the music would be better for it, refined and edging the perfect line between brutal and technical that allowed them both to shine.

It worked because Mitch would never do anything to endanger their friendship, and was always willing to just do what Corey said because it always made sense, and after they'd talked (argued, sometimes) it out, it was always right.

He just hadn't known what that _meant_.

"I'm in love with my best friend," he said. It fell dead on the soundproofing, makeshift though it was. Corey had helped him put it in after another housemate, a non-musical one, had complained about them practicing when their schedules hadn't lined up. Corey's room had the same foam lining; they'd done both on the same day. It always comforted Mitch when he saw it, even when he had the distracted moments when he was confused about his sound falling dead. 

And then he swore, because he was in love with his best friend and it made sense and the only thing between them was a wall they'd actually physically reinforced together, and he didn't know what to do with the mental images that came with that, the cascading thoughts about what that meant.

And then Corey walked in, because Mitch had never really stood up for himself on privacy and they were together so often it didn't really matter anyway.

"That thing Neil said," and Mitch lost the rest of Corey's words in a sudden narrowing of his world to only have him in it, where the only sounds were the dull roar in his ears and himself landing on the floor.

Corey sat next to him. Mitch savoured that, as the syncope passed and his world expanded just enough to let Corey back in. There was warmth, still, and touch, and stray hairs because Corey always shedded like a cat in spring. It couldn't last like that, he was as certain of that as he was that sunlight was overrated and everything needed more harmonies. He braced himself even as he leaned in.

"You don't actually top, do you?" Corey said, and didn't push him away, though they'd never been physically affectionate for the sake of it, and Mitch was waiting for it, the end of how things were, as he shook his head. "Thank goodness," Corey said, and then Mitch had hair and a tongue in his mouth, making the world upright again.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a short story competition and didn't win; posting it for closure, unlikely to be expanded.


End file.
